


what you are willing to give

by thedevilchicken



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Forced to beg, Forced to enjoy it, Gang Rape, Interrogation, M/M, Prostitution, Rape, Rape as interrogation, Rape as training, Self-Sacrifice, Spies, Undercover, Violence, rape as punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 21:58:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11518308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Everyone in the Rebellion has stories about sacrifice. Cassian is no different.





	what you are willing to give

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DachOsmin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DachOsmin/gifts).



Everyone in the Rebellion has stories about sacrifice. 

They talk about it like it's finite, like it's a one-time deal: one guy lost his family, another lost his leg. That's sacrifice, they think; they give things for the cause, the price they pay for being on the right side of history. And maybe it's noble and maybe it just _is_ , who knows. 

Cassian has sacrificed, too, though no one else would say that 'cause what he gives isn't people or property or his fucking limbs. He's a spy. He's a sneak. He's not a real fighter, not like they are. 

It's only sex, they say. 

-

He can't break his cover and he knows it. He also knows exactly what that means, given the situation at hand. 

The first one fucks his mouth and tells him _you bite me and I'll wring your scrawny imperial neck_ , not that he was planning on doing that, mostly because he did it once and almost choked on all the blood. It's easier for him to choke on the cock in his throat instead. 

The second one fucks him from behind, using some sort of gun oil instead of proper lube that Cassian can only hope makes the guy's miserable prick drop off in the fulness of time, but he figures there won't really be time for that. He's pretty sure he knows what's coming. 

The third one jerks himself off over Cassian's bare back. It's really that that he hates the most - he can kind of understand enjoying a mouth or a hole because that's pretty much just physical after a point, but from the look on the third guy's face, he's just getting off on the rape. 

That's what it is and Cassian knows it. He stopped telling himself it was anything else a long time ago. 

The first guy comes in his mouth and he holds him there until he swallows, then he slaps him in the face with the side of his cock that's still wet from spit and come. The second guy comes inside him with a groan that makes all three of them laugh like fucking him against his will is some great joke. 

The third guy comes on his back then swirls it around with the tip of his dick like he's signing his name to this thing they've done. That's probably what exactly what it is. 

Then the door to the shitty little room there on Corellia bursts open and they all yell and scramble for their guns except for Cassian. He expected this, after all. 

If he tried to, maybe he could keep the Stormtroopers from killing them. He doesn't try. He puts on his clothes instead and he goes with the imperial troops that have come to save him, and he treads on the first guy's chest as he leaves, the one who made him choke on his cock and swallow his come like that was just a thing they did to prisoners. He hears his ribs crack underneath his boots. 

He'd have saved them if they'd been worth saving, but he figures that they weren't. Even in the Rebel Alliance, no one's perfect. He leaves their bodies behind. 

Still, they did their job better than they'll ever know; now the troops he's been sent to watch will trust him completely. 

-

The Moff knows better than this, but Cassian knows he just can't help himself. After all, Cassian is very good at what he does. He's very...dedicated. 

He understood the order the moment he received it: the agency on Coruscant would be the perfect place to gather fresh intelligence and he knew they didn't mean to send him as a pimp. He went. He knew what he was getting into.

He worked his way up, on his back and on his knees, till important people noticed him. He hung on important arms at parties, sank to his knees and sucked important cocks. Whatever happened in society, the best whore on Coruscant was there, until the Moff started to notice him; he flashed him smiles and just a hint of skin until the Moff started to _want_ him. The rebels were aware of his proclivities. Cassian knew how to play to them.

"I don't usually do this," the Moff said the first time he hired him, and Cassian didn't tell him how many other times he'd heard that. "In fact, I never do this." 

Cassian smiled just like he meant it. He put his hands on the Moff's broad chest, on his fucking imperial uniform, and hs said, "So do it with me. I'll be your first." 

He didn't want to feel the Moff's hands on him. He didn't want to taste the fancy alcohol that lingered on the Moff's thin mouth. He wasn't unattractive - slim build, high cheekbones, all that stuff the jizz bands liked to sing about - but the thought of the things he oversaw turned Cassian's stomach. He did not want his hands on him, as soft and fine and immaculately manicured as they were. As far as Cassian was concerned, there was blood on them.

Inside the Moff's vast apartments, Cassian took off his clothes and he stroked himself and told him, "Take me to the bedroom, unless you want to have me here?"

The Moff has had him everywhere. Cassian's ridden his cock in the bedroom while the Moff grips at his hips. He's sucked his cock in the 'fresher shower, on his knees. He's bend over the huge dining table where the Moff throws all his fancy parties and he's let him fuck him till he groans and jerks and empties himself inside him. 

Sometimes the Moff pays for the night and so Cassian stays there. Sometimes the Moff pays for a week and Cassian eats at the table and he looks at him and he smiles and he wonders how many ways there'd be to kill him and they slip away before anyone could notice. 

"I've bought you for the night," the Moff says, tonight, when Cassian enters. 

He nods and smiles and he takes off his clothes and he leaves them on the table by the door; the Moff is bolder now, months since the start, and likes to look at him. He spends more time out of the best clothes he's ever worn in his life than in them. 

The Moff will fuck him and Cassian will make believe he likes it. The Moff might spank him. The Moff might tie him up and beat him, whip him, hit him with his fists; the only rule is not his face and not his cock. The rebels are aware of the Moff's proclivities. Cassian knows how to play to them. 

Cassian will take it all, but not because his orders tell him to. He does it because the intelligence he overhears is too good not to. 

-

When they question him, he has nothing much to say. 

It's not because he knows nothing; he knows a lot and they all know he knows a lot, but they don't know _what_ he knows. They tried to find out, but their attempts all failed. So, they called in the interrogator.

Beating didn't work. His cheek was so swollen he could barely open his eye and he hurt, there was no denying that. He hurt and he was bloody and he hoped the Trooper they'd had do it to him couldn't clench his fists for days, not that he really had to hope because that was probably the truth of it anyway. 

They tried water next, and electricity, sleep-deprivation, dehydration. They tried solitary confinement where all that he could hear was someone else's screaming, like that would be the thing that made him break. Cassian is stronger than that. He's done worse than leave another rebel to be tortured. 

Then, the interrogator came. The ones who'd caught him thought he'd talk because everybody else did; Cassian told himself he was not everybody else. 

He thought he understood what would happen next, but he didn't. They made him like it. They drugged him, some kind of dirty fucking spice, the _fucking_ spice, the one that made his skin crawl like it was burning even when the interrogator stripped off all his clothes for him, but it was a good burn, it was _really_ good, it got him hard and made him tingle. 

The first time he came, the interrogator's hand around his cock, he thought that was it till he was hard again five minutes later. The second time he came, it was so good he almost cried out loud. The third time, the interrogator barely even touched him. And then he left him standing there, naked, aching, still chained hand and foot. 

"Beg me to fuck you," the interrogator said. Cassian knows he believed he wouldn't, but he also knows he was completely wrong; none of his training had prepared him for this. When the Intelligence Branch recruited him, they trained him thoroughly. They broke his bones then healed them up again. They cut him. They beat him and they stripped him and they fucked him till he couldn't stand; they kept him like an animal for weeks, underfed and thirsty, wretched, to show him what the enemy would do and what he could withstand. But they didn't do _this_. 

He begged. He begged for the interrogator's cock when he dangled it there in front of his face. He begged him to fuck him, screamed it till his throat was raw and his voice was hoarse and then the interrogator fucked him. So many others had been there before but the spice made it different, made it better, made it _worse_. He wanted it. 

"Beg me to let you come," the interrogator said, and Cassian didn't hesitate. He begged. He pushed against the hand clamped tight around his cock to keep his orgasm at bay. He pushed back against the cock inside him, squeezed around it, fucked himself on it. He pleaded. He _begged_. 

"Tell us what we want to know," the interrogator said, "and then I'll do exactly what you want." 

Cassian sobbed. He wanted to. The worst thing of all was that he _wanted_ to, but he couldn't, he couldn't. The interrogator pulled out. He left him there. 

The next morning, there was more spice. The next morning, too. This morning, there was more spice, mixed in with the water that they made him drink; he can still taste it in his mouth as he hears the explosion, as he hears boots on metal deck plates, as the door opens and the rebels arrive to rescue him. 

The first thing Cassian does is beg someone to fuck him. They laugh, like it's all a joke. 

They laugh, but he never told the Empire anything. 

-

Everyone in the Rebellion has stories about sacrifice. Some of them are even true. 

"We have a job for you," Draven says. "It should suit your...unique skillset." And Cassian nods as he follows him, and he flashes a bright smile he hasn't felt in years. Cassian gives _himself_ , time and again. He couldn't say how much is even left. 

When they say the names of the ones who won the war, he knows _Cassian Andor_ won't be among them. But he figures at least they'll have won the war.

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I hate to quote motivational whatsits, the title comes from this quote: 
> 
> _The most important decision about your goals is not what you're willing to do to achieve them, but what you are willing to give up._ \- Dave Ramsey


End file.
